A Changed Place (Open)

[Aedan Filmore]

The last time Aedan had been to Rivadon it had just been a sleepy little town, one that seemed like it hadn’t had a care in the world. Those days were quite clearly gone. While the town was rarely troubled by Sanglant’s soldiers but refugees made it very clear that the nation was at war. Sobbing women carrying their meagre possessions wrapped in rags, shell-shocked men stumbling as if drunk, but with their eyes wide and gaunt, children fighting in the dirt like dogs over crumbs of bread. Once upon a time it could have driven Aedan to tears, but all his tears had been shed already.

While the streets were thronged elsewhere with refugees, Aedan managed to get through with a little bubble of empty space around him. Most of the refugees were weak and unarmed, and Aedan’s lack of expression could have meant the man was ready to lash out. Even though that was not the case, he was encased in a mass of steel plate and mail, blacked with ash and dented from the impacts of blades and maces. A longbow stave and a nearly empty quiver hung at his back, alongside his shield. With several daggers notably positioned on his person, and others hidden in places that passersby couldn’t see, Aedan certainly looked a rough customer.

However he wasn’t nearly as dangerous looking as one might guess, his quiver had only three arrows lefts. His armour was in dire need of repair, his sword needed sharpening, his belly needed filling and underneath his armour a slice in his side where a lucky blade had found a joint in the plate still wept red tears. But he kept going, because of one thing.

Someone had seen the banner.

It had been luck mostly. He’d gotten a ride into the town to resupply from a farmer fleeing to the safety of town with his family. His legs had been too tired to keep him going and the farmer had decided that travelling with a knight gave him either good protection or a good bargaining chip depending on who they ran into. He’d been silent mostly, but his ears had perked up when he heard tell of a nearby village that had been burned to the ground. A black banner with three silver snakes had been planted in the centre of the ruins. He’d found every last detail he could from the man before they’d stopped in the village.

He was on the right track, of that he was certain. Now he needed only resupply and reprovision. Then it was back out there. His quarry was near...

[Emerahl Leana Gorgo]

We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES

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Sparks lazily flew from the blade being sharpened in an exotic woman’s hands. Each stroke was rhythmical and carefully render. The grating, shrill screech of the rock against the blade caused people to cover their ears and grimace. Not once did the woman glance up and allow her dark eyes to regard the bustling refugee town of Rivadon. She was here for a single purpose: to find work. It was not common for woman mercenaries to find jobs easily, after all, woman warriors were few and very far between. Not many people were enlightened to her group of people. She descended from a great line of woman warriors, who lived in a tribe without a single man nearby. It was her mother’s weakness to lust that had pulled the dark female from the life of a true, independent, strong woman. Keeping her strokes firm and steady, she ignored the bastle of the run down town.

The great infiltration of refugees had caused slums in the outer city to spring up. It was almost amusing to see the workers of Samarid desperately attempting to build decent shelters for the poor, lost souls of the dark war ridden world. Emerahl cared little for the plights of the weak. War was her life. She knew little else and wanted to know little more. Her hope that she would find work in Samarid was solely based on the fact that the land had a warrior queen; well had one. Her nose wrinkled up in disgust. Now that their queen had fallen, it was going to be quite painful in getting employment. She could only bank on the fact that they would become so desperate for warriors, they would select her. Her chest expanded beneath her well crafted, leather armour as the woman took in a deep breath of the fear that hung upon citizens’ mind. The horror and terror in their eyes was almost tangible and the blundered around seeking refuge from the impending war.

The dull wind rippled in the mercenary’s dark, lustrous hair. The dark mount next to her stirred uneasily. His ears pricked forward at the clank of armour. Emerahl did not stir, but remained rhymically sharpening her weapon. Her bow lay carefully next to her and recently crafted arrows were piled at her feet. The villagers were wary of the ominous figure preparing her weaponry. Her mount sighed and the jingle of him champing at his bit filled the woman’s ears. Obviously, the passerby held not threat to the pair. While Emerahl seemed inattentive, she saw all.

“Your armour,” she said, her voice laced with a heavy unrecognisable accent, “it’s unfit for battle.”
Her voice left her lips without her even looking up and acknowledging the man who had walked passed.
“You’ve been away from home long, no? From the state of your armour, you are not part of the army, as they would not allow such slovenly attire, or perhaps they would have replaced your armour and your arrows. Yet, you walk like a soldier, so perhaps you were once one, no? I may even further a guess that you have no home?”
No smile touched her lips as she looked up, her sharp, intelligent eyes running over the features of the man. His features were distinctly Samridian. The fairness of the people seemed to be a rather common trait. His eyes matched the blue of many of the citizens, as did the lightness of his hair.

Emerahl loved to figure people out and found no social injustice in pointing what she saw out.
“There is a blacksmith further down the road, but is rather preoccupied. Perhaps I can help,” she offered mildly, making it no secret that this would be a job not a gesture of friendliness. Placing the stone new to her, she ran a finger over the edge of the blade. A smile of statisfaction started upon her lips as she noticed a bead of blood form from the slightest pressure.

(TAG ?!)open
(WORDS ?!)665
(WEARING ?!) leather armour
(STATUS ?!) finished
(NOTES ?!) blah
(CREDIT ?!) this lovely template was made by dear joey AKA xoxsilvermoonox of the lovely CAUTION 2.0 don't steal this or else I will send my rabid heffalumps and woozles after you!! (: the lyrics are by the amazing black veil brides, never give in.[/size]

[Aedan Filmore]

The looks of the villagers were beginning to irritated Aedan. They saw anyone in armour as a threat now, any blade was to their eyes, champing to bury itself in their chests. And he couldn’t blame them for their thoughts, many had been driven from the homes they and their forefathers had inhabited for more decades than they could remember. They had seen friends carried off to lives as slaves, they had seen their possessions rummaged through and anything of value stolen. They’d seen their entire lives disappear before their very eyes. Aedan knew exactly how they felt. But far from pity them, he felt contempt. He had buried his sorrow, locked it away in a steel cage in his chest and thrown the key far away. They let it overcome them and let what little life they had left degenerate into nothingness. If they couldn’t help themselves then they weren’t worth helping.

He hadn’t seen many soldiers in the town, unsurprising really. The army was in disarray by this point, they’d been taken by surprise and smashed. They weren’t up to scratch and they’d paid the price. When he’d been at the capital not too long before he’d tried to find someone, anyone, who was marching against the enemy. He proposed all sorts of plans to his old master: assassination, raids, guerrilla tactics. But he simply replied that it was beyond his hands. Furious he’d left, but now he was seeing the foolishness in that. He could have used his master’s resources to restock his supplies and repair his battered armour and weapons, and mend the ache in his chest. But pride kept him from doing so, pride and his quest. He had a sniff of his prey now, and he wasn’t going to let it escape. Whoever it had been that had burned his home to the ground and left only scattered bones for him to bury and perform what rites he could to grant their tortured souls peace. If he survived his quest he would find a holy man and have him perform a proper ceremony. It was the proper thing to do.

His armour was making quite the noise now. A loud clanking among the rustling of clothes and the squelch of boots or bare feet in the mud. It was rather conspicuous, but there wasn’t anything he could do to help it. After a while though, he could hear...something. Another noise. Not the rustling of linen or the squelch of mud, but the grinding of rock on metal. Presumably an armourer was nearby, or maybe some soldier or mercenary separated from the company and preparing to head out elsewhere. Soon enough he was able to see the source. An exotic looking woman, with a great warhouse beside her.

The woman spoke him, though he wasn’t sure why. He turned towards her, she hadn’t even moved. Her words were almost chastising, and he replied gruffly. “As these past few weeks have shown my armour is perfectly serviceable. If it gleamed like new I would be easily spotted. And dead”. The accent seemed familiar, he’d come across people who spoke like that in his travels with Amelia, many years ago. Her mention of his home sent a chill down his spine, but he repressed it. “I no longer have any home, and there is no army worth mentioning in these parts, at least none with the spine to fight the enemy like men, so I am doing their job for them. Alone”. Her expression was unsmiling and his matched hers. The dark hair and sharp eyes seemed as familiar as the accent. He and Amelia had encountered a tribe that seemed rather similar to her in the past. Like Amazons, all warriors and not a man among them. When they wanted a child they found a man and took him. One of them had taken a liking to him actually...she hadn’t enjoyed having her advances refused. The scar along his right bicep ached at the memory.

She mentioned a blacksmith and he nodded. “That was one of my destinations, my armour is dented and I need a whetstone to sharpen my blade. I also need to make use of an arrow fletcher and a healer if there is any to be found in this town”.

[Emerahl Leana Gorgo]

We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES

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The baroque head of the horse lowered, and nibbled at a few strands of untouched grass. He snorted, unsatisfied with what the devastated earth had to offer. The mercenary concluded that it would be best for her move on shortly. She had gathered enough weaponry to head out again, perhaps back to the capital to seek a fine paying job. However, she held little hope for the unorganised, grief stricken for making any conscious decision. She would probably have to find private work. Perhaps a personal body guard or a defence tutor for a young noble. Neither really appealed to her sense of adventure nor desire to see war. However, she did not let the emotion stir upon her facade. Emotion was a weak woman’s tool, used to woe men into uncomfortable positions. Emerahl was stronger than that.

At the man’s words, the mercenary bit back the disapproving shake of her head. Only men would think that woman thought that the armour’s blinking shine was an indication of whether armour was fit for battle or not. Men were chauvinistic creatures, with little regard for woman other than pleasure and reproduction. While the anger boiled up a little, the woman calmed herself. It was no time to blow up in rage because of such a silly creature. Men were hardly worth her time, but she had to admit she enjoyed bettering them on the battlefield. There was no greater satisfaction. Her horse, tired of the mud patch, sighed and walked off, head low to the ground searching for decent grazing. He bore his teeth at any person who dared move close to him, and nipped the back of a dog that snapped at his heels. The bad tempered creature moved with an authoritative grace.
“Mi̱n páme polý makriá, skoúra fíle mou,” the mercenary spoke in her mother tongue. The horse stopped, looked back and tossed his head in acknowledgement before continuing back upon his quest.

Slipping back uncomfortably into the common tongue, Emerahl readdressed the man, “Only a man would think woman do not understand the battlefield. The integrity of the metal has been compromised. Those dents make the armour unfit for battle.”
She shook her head in disappointment at the man. She would have thought he would recognise a mercenary when he saw one. Obviously not too much of an army man, then. Most of formalised army soldiers hated and distrusted mercenaries. After all, their services went to the highest bidder. Meeting his gaze unyieldingly, she allowed the smallest of smirks to play on her lips. So she was right. It made sense. She mulled his words over in her mind. So no army worth fighting for? Ah, and now he sought to seek out the enemy alone. It was certainly an emotionally motivated quest. After all, no person in their good rational mind would leap into war, before gathering a decent army.
“Former soldier, home town and family destroyed; now seeking revenge,” she pursed her lips in a moment of thought before bending down to pick up her pile of finely fletched arrows. “How quaint.”

“Arsopher!” she called out sharply, and a moment later the black stallion cantered through the village toward them, mud flying from underneath his hooves. Villagers cowered away, some hurling insults. He skidded to a stop a few feet from the pair then walked up closer to the woman. She placed a gently hand on his neck before moving to where she had tied her quiver. It was already overfull with arrows. She selected a few more, adding to the pile in her hand. Turning back to the former knight she spoke again, “You won’t find better fletched arrows in town.”
She held out the pile toward him.
“You will have to stay overnight if you wish for the blacksmith to get round to your armour and he’ll sharpen your sword. Healer? Not sure if this godforsaken place has one, but feel free to look.”

She regarded him carefully, with little interest betraying her expression. She tilted her head slightly, as she mulled over his former words.
“You seeking something dangerous out alone? Surely it would be better to hire some company,” she smirked, finally hoping that she would come across the possibility of having something to do, other than sit and wait for the army to become desperate.

(TAG ?!)open
(WORDS ?!)724
(WEARING ?!) leather armour
(STATUS ?!) finished
(NOTES ?!) blah
(CREDIT ?!) this lovely template was made by dear joey AKA xoxsilvermoonox of the lovely CAUTION 2.0 don't steal this or else I will send my rabid heffalumps and woozles after you!! (: the lyrics are by the amazing black veil brides, never give in.

[Aedan Filmore]

Once upon a time Aedan’s master would have birched his backside raw for letting his armour get into such a state. Scratches, dents and even holes made the plate look like he’d scavenged it from a battleground. The mail was even worse. Years of storage underground had let some of the rings rust and a few lucky strikes had torn the loose links open. For a while every step he’d take had left a ring of mail behind. It had been that which had driven him into town in the first place. Leaving a trail was not a great strategy if one was to be stealthy. And stealth was one of the few advantages he was able to bring to bear in his pursuit.

He appeared to have struck a nerve in his retort. She probably thought she’d hidden it but Aedan was a good reader, at least of humans. Dwarves and elves usually kept their emotions more guarded than mere humans. Maybe she thought he was being condescending? It was a simple remark though. No matter. He glanced over at her horse. Now there was a beast to match its master. Staring down passersby and employing its teeth when anything caught its ire. His own steed was a much less ill-temptered beast, but he was still in the capital, a fully trained warhorse was a fine beast, but not a stealthy one. His hearing pricked when he heard her speak, the language she used much softer than the common tongue, and rather familiar. “I knew I recognised your look, your tongue just confirms it. I’ve had occasion to run into those of your clan before”.

Aedan turned his eyes back to the woman and retorted. “The armour has proven perfectly fit against foes more numerous and experienced than you, dents or no. However it does, admittedly need the attention of a good armourer”. He felt that chill again when she returned to her analysis of him. “Former Knight actually, but the other details are correct”. Glancing at the woman’s attire he decided to play at her own game. “Mercenary, obviously, the armour says that much, the kingdom’s armies prefer plate and mail to leather. Out of employment at present, otherwise you wouldn’t be in a place where no one has the coin for your services. I’ve already figured out your face and your language to figure out your birthplace, but your people rarely leave home. A dispute perhaps? An argument over a man maybe? Or a quarrel with your mother”. Having seen people of her heritage in the past, admittedly some time ago and not a lot, the girl’s father would not be in much of a position to argue.

He heard her call out something and within a moment the black warhorse was cantering towards them, villagers practically diving out of his way. No, this horse was not the noble beast his own Tymon was. That horse looked as if it had delighted in sending the villagers flying. He was surprised though, when the woman took a pile of her own very well crafted arrows and offered them to him. Shrugging his quiver from his back he took the proffered arrows and placed them in the leather quiver. “Thank you” he replied, examining one carefully. The wood was of good quality, the goosefeather fletching superb, and the arrowheads, a mix of barbed, needlehead and broadhead, were excellently made. “Then I had best find some accommodations for the night. The armourer can deal with my weapons and armour. And if there is no healer within reach I can tend to my own wounds. I am sure there are people here who need the attentions of a healer more, and who don’t have my medical knowledge”. Amelia had given him a few tips of the healers trade she’d gleaned from books during their trips long before. It had been of much help to him since...he’d lost her.

“I’m seeking out the person who destroyed my home, as you already guessed. He is judging from his heraldry at least moderate nobility and has a force of some scale. His banner was last spotted amidst the ruins of a farm some ten miles from here”. He nearly raised an eyebrow at the smirk. It was the closest to a smile she’d come so far. “I doubt I’d be able to afford my service. Most of my wealth was destroyed or carried off, I only have a moderate sum of money left over from my knight days”.

[Emerahl Leana Gorgo]

We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES

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His analysis was surprising. Her old clan was very secretive, unless of course, they had developed a taste for man flesh. Occasionally, once every ten years the clan leader would seek out a very temporary mate and fulfil her material desire. This cycle would continue until she bore a girl child. The male children were banished to a small village nearby at birth. That village usually sent the boys out to be mercenaries to pay their dues. It was a sort of agreement between the village and the clan. Where on earth would he have come across them? Perhaps he had been the father of one of the many children. It was almost impossible to say no and get away uninjured. It was a simple matter of pride. The man should be proud to contribute to the greatest warriors which roamed the lands. It was surprising though. While he had the correct proportions, he was the wrong colouring. Although, she had not stayed long enough to know the finer details of the clan’s culture.
“Well done,” she said flippantly, with little interest in how or where he found them. “It is perhaps a miracle that you made it out alive, unless of course...”

She steeled herself lightly against his comment, and slowly let air through her lips to calm herself.
“You are lucky that you did not find yourself against a better soldier. But I am glad you see it is needing repair,” she said easily, the common tongue slowly getting easier. It always took awhile for the mostly silent mercenary to slip back into the uncomfortable tongue used across the known world, for trade and alliances.
“Former knight, former soldier, they are both bred to kill, although I suppose it’s the arrogance of class,” she said lightly, not too impressed with the world’s strange views of born nobility. To her the greatest people did not inherit their nature from their birth but from their mindset. An amused smile played at her lips as the knight played the game too. Tilting her head, she looked at him admiringly.
“So your mind is not directly proportional to your strength. It is nice to meet a soldier... sorry, knight who is not lacking in intelligence,” she said lightly.

“I chose leather, not because I’m a mercenary but because I am yet to find an armourer that will make me steel armour that will provide space for what men do not have but yes, I am a mercenary,” she said lightly. “Dispute no, neither would I leave on such petty grounds as a man and I suppose it is my mother but not for reasons you think.”
Allowing her words to halt for a second, she could not decide if she should tell him or not. He was playing the game so nicely though.
“My mother was weak and fell in love with a man, when I was eleven. She ran away from the clan and took me with her. Unfortunately, since I did not complete my training and the learning of all the customs, I cannot return, save I prove myself.”
She did not smile as she spoke as the disgust welled up. What self respecting woman would give up her right to be a great warrior, especially for a man? Emerahl had left her mother soon afterward to join a band of travelling mercenaries.

“No problem, former knight,” she said receiving his thanks will little care. Arsopher gently lipped the back of the woman’s hand, looking for treats. She pushed his away, and he stamped his foot like a small child.
“Hush now, we’ll move on soon,” she crooned in common, knowing it was rude to speak in other languages people did not understand. The horse sighed and eyed up the strange man. He snorted and picked up his rider’s bow in his teeth and started off toward the inn where they had stayed the night before.
“Arsopher knows the way to a good inn to stay for the night. Perhaps a drink or two will numb the wound so you can tend to it. Perhaps I should stitch it up for you,” her voice dipped tenderly. “It’s no good to sow up your own wounds unless you have to. Come.”

She started forward, before looking back at his words. A small smile touched her lips.
“I am so desperate to do something the only pay I need is food and adventure,” she replied and started off after her rouge stallion, which had stopped a few feet away, and looked back at them in impatience.
“Prosechó̱s!” she said in exasperation and started off after the horse. She did not look back to see whether he was following her or not. She stopped outside the inn and handed her horse to a nervous looking stable hand that had had to deal with the horse the night before. She pushed her way inside and moved over to the bar.
“A whiskey please,” she order, pulling out a few bronze coins from her pocket.

(TAG ?!)open
(WORDS ?!)840
(WEARING ?!) leather armour
(STATUS ?!) finished
(NOTES ?!) blah
(CREDIT ?!) this lovely template was made by dear joey AKA xoxsilvermoonox of the lovely CAUTION 2.0 don't steal this or else I will send my rabid heffalumps and woozles after you!! (: the lyrics are by the amazing black veil brides, never give in.

[Aedan Filmore]

He could see her surprise at being recognised for what she was. He nearly laughed when her words trailed off, noticing the implication easily. “No, I didn’t simply sit back and let some warrior woman have her way with me until she had a girl. I was travelling with my wife, a scholar, when we ran into your clan. She was fascinated and tried to learn all she could about them, I just tried to stay out of the way. But one of them took an interest in me. I tried to politely refuse and they tried to teach me that when the clan leader wants a tumble in the hay it’s best to give her one. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well I have the scars to prove it”. To emphasise that he popped off a batter piece of plate. The mail underneath was rather ragged, so it was easy to see the long blade wound that trailed up his bicep. “Of course she didn’t get off too lightly either, she has enough scars on her now to remind her that she should always ask politely”.

“Unfortunately for the soldiers I did run across, Sanglant doesn’t seem to put too much effort into making sure its men are well trained. If not for their numbers my armour would be as good as new”. He smirked at her contrasting of knights and soldiers. “Well there is quite a bit of difference. Most soldiers are barely trained before they’re given a pike or a sword and told to march off against the enemy. Knights train with weaponry, tactics and horsemanship for almost all their lives. Not that that training has helped Samarid much”. He might have realised that she would be offput by the concept of hereditary station. If he recalled correctly her clan’s leader was selected not by birth, but by strength. A good enough system in a small group, but in a sprawling kingdom like Samarid one needed a more rational method of selection than duels and combat.
She seemed almost surprised to find that he possessed more in his skull than thin air. “Well like I said, knights tend to be rather intelligent, or at least those who aren’t so inbred that their brains have shrivelled to the size of peas are”.

Aedan nodded. “It is not a design of armour that smiths in this nation are familiar with. Most warriors here are male, and when women are called upon to fight circumstances are usually so desperate that there isn’t time to forge armour for them”. He raised an eyebrow when he heard her tale. She did not sound altogether sympathetic to her parents’ case, although he knew a bard or two that could turn it into an epic love poem with a day or two and a little gold. However he doubted that that would be something the mercenary would appreciate. Still his analysis was not quite over.
“There don’t seem to be any other mercenaries with you. That in itself is odd, most mercenaries on their own are either personal bodyguards or those of such low quality that no self-respecting company will take them. That would imply that either your fellow mercenaries are dead, or that you decided to strike out on your own, since you seem too well prepared to fit into the category of unwanted”.

He glanced at the horse as it tried to get itself a treat. Now that behaviour he knew. Tymon always tried to get an apple or a lump of sugar for himself if he thought he could manage it, and even sometimes if he couldn’t. He swore that horse was far too human-like for his own good. He met the stallion’s gaze unflinching, making sure that he knew that he wasn’t like the cowering refugees that fell to the ground to get out of his way. Putting his quiver back in its place Aedan nodded. “Alright then. A drink or two sounds good, and thank you for your offer. Some help would be...welcome”.

Aedan raised an eyebrow again. Most mercenaries were purely in their profession for the gold. He’d seen mercenaries swap sides mid-battle when hearing their employer’s gold had run out, hoping to recoup their fees from the pauper’s enemies. “Well there’s adventure aplenty up for grabs. As for food, I’m sure I have enough money for now to keep up with provisions, but eventually I will need to start hoping that Sanglant soldiers carry their wages with them”. He followed the woman and the horse through the crowd. The woman got a wide berth, and the horse an even wider one. He on the other hand, rather obviously Samarid instead of some strange foreigner, simply got the contact-free bubble he’d had before. He passed the stableboy trying to persuade Arsopher into the stables. He almost pitied the boy, but forgot it as he stepped into the inn and towards the bar, sitting beside the female mercenary. He pulled out the first coin he could find in his pocket. It came out silver, and dwarven. Scratch-like runes covered one side, while the smith’s emblem – a superbly detailed hammer – shone on the other side. He placed it on the bar and added “Make it two. And keep them coming”.

[Keladry Annabelle Furiosa]

Trying hard to capture
the moment this morning I don't know

Kel rolled her eyes at her old knight master as he looked down his nose at her. Even though the young woman was only an inch shorter than what he was, he always attempted to make her feel as though she was still the same height that she had been as a page. She let out an exasperated sigh and simply said, “If it means so much to my Lord then I shall go to Rivadon then”. She bowed and turned on her heel, leaving the room. She was tired of the man treating her as though she was weaker than the men who had trained with her. She had hoped by now that the man would have realized that although she was physically not as strong as the other knights, she was both mentally and emotionally equal to them in strength. She nodded to a few lords and ladies who raised their eyebrows at the sight of the young female knight walking past them. She smiled wryly, she had caused quite a bit of chaos among many of the nobles when she had first begun her training due to the fact that it was considered improper for a woman of noble blood wanting to become a knight.

Maybe their looks of disapproval was also directed towards her boots, breeches and shirt that she typically wore. Kel rarely wore dresses unless she was forced to, and she was not about to wear dresses just to impress someone who never spoke to or really cared for. After all dresses got in the way of her lifestyle as a female knight. She smiled as she entered the palace stables. Her tall dark bay stallion had his head hanging over the stable door and began to bob his head up and down when he saw his mistress. Kel cradled the horse’s massive head in her arms as she softly murmured, “Hey you brat, munched any grooms recently?” The stallion was known among the grooms for his temper and Kel had gone through a point as a squire where none had wanted to come close to the ill-tempered stallion. Zahir was bred to be a war horse and as far as Kel knew he descended from the same bloodline as one of the queen’s horses. She bit her lip when she remembered that the queen had been killed a few days earlier. A memorial service was planned as they had no body to bury since the dragon rider Gwyndar had taken her body and fled.

She shook her head at the memory of the Dragon Festival. The queen’s death had dealt the kingdom a crippling blow and members of the royal court were attempting to determine the queen’s successor due to her not having a heir. Kel turned in the direction of the stand where her tack was stored and lifted her heavy saddle and slung her bridle over her shoulder. She placed the saddle on the door before slidding the reins over Zahir’s head, put the bridle on and secured it in place. She then picked up the saddle and carefully placed it on his back, then tightened the girth. Zahir pulled his ears back but did nothing else when she tightened her girth. “If anyone looks for me, tell them that I’ve gone to Rivadon to check on the security detail” she said to a nearby groom as se led Zahir out of his stable and grabbed a sword off the sword rack. She didn’t have enough time to get her own sword out of her rooms and she was certain that the pages wouldn’t miss one sword. She clucked to Zahir asking him to move into a collected canter until they reached the city gates. The guards knew her and her stallion by now so they let her pass without any questions.

When they were outside the city Kel asked Zahir to gallop, knowing that the sooner she reached Rivadon, then the sooner they could return home. She slowed Zahir to a steady canter after a few miles, not wanting to wear him out for the journey back home. After about an hour and a half she saw the city of Rivadon in the distance and slowed Zahir to a steady trot. She nodded at the guards that stood by the gate and slowed her horse again. She dismounted him once she had passed through the gates and led him forward, noticing that many of the people gave her quite a wide berth of space. She smiled to herself knowing that the massive stallion was quite intimidating. She decided to stop at a local inn just so that both herself and Zahir could rest and have something to eat and drink. She led him into the stables and put him in an empty stable. She untacked the stallion and made sure that he had a bucket of water and some hay before she closed the stable door and entered the inn. She walked towards the bar and sat down next to a blonde-haired man and a dark-haired woman. She ordered herself a drink and glanced at the two next to her.

The man’s armour was worn and in desperate need of repair and cleaning. She frowned, there was something familiar about the man, as if she had seen him in court when she had been a child. She shook her head certain that she was imagining things, she was certain that she had never seen the man before in her life. She stared down at the drink in front of her as she considered her current position. She seemed to have become the knight’s errand girl, doing tasks that they felt were well below their title and skill. She felt rage boil up inside of her at that thought; she had spent all her years of training fighting to prove that she was just as good as the men at fighting. Yet now that she had proven herself they still refused to give her a fair chance.

[Emerahl Leana Gorgo]

We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES

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Humour almost broke her facade at the retelling of the knight’s story. The peoples of her village were certainly a quirky bunch. Her mother herself had taken many lovers who had the misfortune to run across the clan. Unfortunately, she had only produced one girl and had to give the rest of her children up quick soon after birth. Her mother had at first regretted it but soon after it became habit.
“There I thought men were ever so vulnerable to woman trussed up in leather,” she smirked, knowing the armour of her clan was indeed rather seductively revealing, a tradition Emerahl had not neglected. While it seemed impractical, it was a very good distraction for their male foes and of course, to attract men. At the mention of his wife, her mind wandered. He almost spoke of her as though she was still alive, but if she was, she doubted he would be out here seeking revenge. The destroying of homes was not an act that would call a man to travel the breadth of the country seeking out revenge. She quickly rationalised that woman must be dead. She felt little pity for the man but that was not in her nature to care about stranger’s lives. Death was inevitable.

“Well I am glad you were able to stand your ground against such temptations,” she said wryly, hardly believing a man could think with his head or his heart. The only men she had known were mercenaries who spent a great deal of their money on hired pleasure, even if they were somewhat attached to another woman. It was a notorious fact about the men she had lived with and had found little to disprove her clan’s dislike for the male species. In fact, she had only found reinforcing factors. She vaguely allowed her eyes to glance over the nasty scar, but she felt little for it and found it quite an outrage that he had given the clan leader scars in return. However, she let it slip. She had probably deserved it. Listening apathetically to his description, she felt rather amused. Men and their war games, each viewing themselves better than the next and the previous. She shook her head slightly at the knight.

She listened to his differentiation between knights and soldiers with vague amusement. He seemed to take distinct offence to lumping the two groups under a single banner. She sighed and shook her head.
“If your description appeases you, former knight. All any of us really are; knights, soldiers, mercenaries, are puppets for the government. You were lucky to have a queen that journeyed into battle with you. Most don’t,” she shrugged. “At least mercenaries get to chose which side they’re on.”
A syllable of laughter left her lips at knights being intelligent. She had met more Neanderthals than intelligent beings. Most when she had met when being recruited into an army had thought she was there for their entertainment.
“You give them far too much credit,” she said lightly, rather amused. Shaking her head as her cynical laughter resurfaced, the woman could hardly believe how much trust he placed in his fellow comrades.

“I have noticed,” she said dryly. “Men here, well most places, seem to think woman in the army are not intended to be for the fighting.”
She shrugged, not being bothered by it. She had killed a few soldiers foolish enough to explore their desire to advance. Of course, the army she was serving did not find her antics amusing. She moved on when things got dull rather than when the money ran out. She looked at him curiously as he continued to figure her out. Shaking her head, she was amused by his interpretation.
“The band I am usually with has disbanded due to conflicting ideals,” she said lightly. A few nights ago a great deal of her band had been killed by Sanglant armed forces. While some had decided to join Sanglant, Emerahl had not. Instead she had sought out work somewhere else.

She smiled in satisfaction at his agreement. She could really do with a drink or two. She had many memories to forget for just one night. Not that she had really had any care for the people she had worked with, as they changed so often and the threat of death discouraged many relationships forming. Emerahl had been very careful not to even make friends. When she was younger, she had had an attachment to one of the older woman mercenaries who had taken her under her wings and had continued her education.
“Let us retire then,” she said, her vocabulary limiting her slightly, as retire usually referred to the bedroom. However, she had little other knowledge of the language. She sighed in slight frustration. She however, would not point out the slip.

“There are other ways to gain gold, former knight,” she said lightly. She had been known to portray herself as a prostitute and then robbed any man foolish enough to take up the offer of her imaginary services. If they were lucky, they would make it out alive. However, that rarely happened. She raised an eyebrow at his form of payment.
“In such a poor little town, such a payment is rather grand,” she stated, a slight amusement tought her lips. “Real drawnen silver. Such a kingly gift. You could probably stay the month with that.”
She smirked and touched the glass of whiskey to her lips. The alcohol made her shudder. She truly hated the taste but loves the way her memories fell away to a more amusing Emerahl, one other appreciated a great deal more too.
“My name is Emerahl,” she stated, thinking that it was safe enough to reveal her name. “Emerahl the Wild.”
She drained her drink with a grimace.
“Áthlia!” she protested in her mother tongue.

She sensed the girl’s presence before she sat down. A curiosity filled her mind. The girl seemed rather far from home, which was unusual for a maiden of Samarid. The typical Samaridian features graced the girl’s face. Emerahl turned her head and regarded her carefully. She smelt of horse. Perhaps an hour or two hours hard ride from the capital. It made the most sense.
“A woman alone, riding from the capital? You must be the famed or infamous woman knight of Samarid.”
She smiled appreciatively. So perhaps there was faith enough to let the woman mercenary into the ranks of the army.

(TAG ?!)open
(WORDS ?!)1081
(WEARING ?!) leather armour
(STATUS ?!) finished
(NOTES ?!) blah
(CREDIT ?!) this lovely template was made by dear joey AKA xoxsilvermoonox of the lovely CAUTION 2.0 don't steal this or else I will send my rabid heffalumps and woozles after you!! (: the lyrics are by the amazing black veil brides, never give in.

[Aedan Filmore]

Aedan very nearly grinned when she spoke. “Men with less willpower than I perhaps, but I somehow managed to resist her advances. Having ones wife looking over your shoulder tends to put a little more steel in one’s spine in such circumstances”. He had wondered at their armour though, it showed more skin than anything that should have called itself armour should have. If it was meant to distract enemy warriors then it didn’t seem very sensible. A proper soldier would be able to ignore temptations of the flesh in the heat of battle and any who couldn’t would be of such low quality that they could be beaten easily, even if undistracted. It didn’t seem too sensible to wear armour like that, when armour that covered oneself perfectly offered much better protection from the elements, enemy weapons and the eyes of passersby. The mention of his wife momentarily jerked his mind, but he compensated for it. Speaking as if his wife were alive stopped him remembering more than was necessary. He kept the overwhelming grief caged in his chest, giving it an opportunity to get out was not a wise decision.

“I had no reason to give in to those temptations. I had a loving wife and no great desire to be used as a tool for the pleasure of some aggressive harpy of a woman. Besides it had been too long since I’d had a good duel, and I love getting myself some new scars”. The last part was added a tad sarcastically, Aedan had far too many scars as it was, he hadn’t much room for new ones. He didn’t really elaborate, if he read her right she wouldn’t see monogamy in a good way, then again he doubted she saw many members of his gender in a good right. Her clan didn’t like men much, or at least not as individuals. They were more like pets or livestock than spouses. They didn’t even live with the women, there was a separate village for the men, where any male children were banished to. It was hardly a loving environment for members of his gender.

Aedan might have guessed that she’d not be able to discern the differences between knights and soldiers. It seemed very easy to tell to him: knights had better armour, weapons and training, were mostly cavalry and better motivated than the rank and file of the army. But he decided not to argue too much. “We were lucky with our queen. Most monarchs don’t care enough for their men to come within a mile of the front line. The queen was different”. Then he smirked. “You may get to choose, but you’re unable to expect mercy from your enemy. A soldier can respect someone fighting for his country. Someone who fights for gold, and usually kills more of his friends than an ordinary soldier however, they can’t expect the same sympathy”. Then he smirked again. “Perhaps I do. I know that my master was a good man, and an intelligent one. I know the same was true of my father, and of many of the knights that trained with me. Beyond that though...well you quite a few of them are nobles. And nobles do often think that they are deserving of a lot more than they actually do deserve”.

“Ah yes, well unfortunately misogyny is a tad widespread among most armies. Add in the fact that your armour is a tad...skimpy on material and a few of them are quite likely to pass comment. Unfortunately chivalry tends to evaporate when your nation is fighting a losing war”. At her next comment he was ready to play the game again. “Ah, conflicting ideals? Most of them are dead then I gather. The rest...probably either went home with what money they could scavenge or went to find new employers. Most likely Sanglant since they’re more likely to offer opportunities for loot. That of course begs the question of what exactly you’re doing in Samarid with so little chance of employment. No lords around here to hire a tutor, no caravans looking for guards. No army in the area and little of interest, so how exactly did you get here?”.

He raised his eyebrow slightly at her choice of words. Retire might lead to implications of more than just a few drinks. Equally though she might simply have a more limited vocabulary in common than she might have liked. So he decided not to draw much attention to error. “Well let’s maybe get a drink or two before we retire, it seems a tad early in the day for bed”.

“There may be, but there aren’t many that I can pursue that will gain me gold in enough of a quantity to guarantee my provisions and quickly enough to continue my search easily when I’ve got it”. He shrugged when she remarked on the lavishness of his payment. “I have plenty like it and this place looks downtrodden enough as it is. Perhaps I’m simply generous?” His whiskey arrived very quickly, once the bartender had noticed the marks on the shiny coin he got a certain spring in his step. He raised the glass to his lips and downed it in one. The whiskey burned its way down. It was strong and not of the best quality, but there was plenty of it on that coin, which was good. Aedan held his drink better than most and it took quite a quantity of drink. A second glass appeared almost before his first had hit the counter. “Mine is Aedan”, he replied. “Sir Aedan Filmore, formerly of Glenring”.

He heard someone set themselves down beside him. Glancing down he saw a young girl. She looked out of place in the town, she didn’t have the terrified look of the refugees, she was more angry looking than terrified. Blond hair, she was most likely Samaridian then, not that a Sanglant would try and enter this town. The smell of a horse showed that she had been riding, and for some time. From the capital? It was odd to have a girl riding out alone in times like these. And she looked familiar. He could remember her face from somewhere, although when he’d last seen her, if he had seen her, she’d been a mere child. He added onto the mercenaries words. “And a familiar looking woman alone at that”, what are you doing here miss? You don’t seem very in place in this town”.

[Keladry Annabelle Furiosa]

Trying hard to capture
the moment this morning I don't know

Kel smiled at the woman’s words about her being the famed woman knight. “Yes I am, although I can guarantee that a number of the Lords of the court would call me the infamous woman knight” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. She knew that her presence in Rivadon would spark the curiosity of a number of people in the city. After all it was a very rare occurrence for a knight to travel to this specific city, most of them were sent to Lunmibewachen to defend that city from attacks from Sanglant. She smiled at the man’s words; of course she would look out of place in this town. “I’m here checking on the security detail and seeing if anymore soldiers are needed” she said shrugging. It wasn’t the most exciting job in the world but apparently she needed to do it because the court could not spare any of their own soldiers.

She tilted her head at the man as she attempted to figure out who he was. She could swear she had seen him before, and he had just proved that by stating that she looked familiar. “Were you ever in Stratenvale by any chance?” she asked the man, trying to place his face. She was certain that she had seen him as a young child, “And may I be so bold as to ask your name?” Kel hoped that maybe if she had a name that she would then be able to place his face. She had always been good with remembering faces and names, a habit which vexed her brothers for reasons she had yet to figure out.

Kel smiled as she thought of her brothers, growing up in a family of three girls and three boys had been no easy task and she was certain that her upbringing was one of the reasons why she was comfortable with large crowds. A house full of six over energetic children could become quite crowded when each child had a friend visiting for the week. She hoped that her youngest brother was enjoying his traing so far, Athlone was the baby of the family so he had been picked on quite a bit by his older siblings. She was certain that once he was done training, the knight’s academy would breathe a sigh of relief. They would have a break from the Furiosa brood for a few years before her nephew Michael began his training. She glanced back at the man unsure if he was a knight or not. She knew that letting armour get in the state that his was in was almost unheard of among knights but then again she had no idea what had happened to him.

She turned her attention to the dark-haired woman. Who was she and how did she know about Kel? She was curious about who the woman was and where she was from, she was obviously not a native to Samarid. Her dark features gave it away. She took a sip of her drink and forced herself to not pull a face, whiskey was a popular drink in this bar apparently and she had been ignorant about that fact when she had ordered her drink.

[Vona Rarnan]

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Screaming in the dark

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I howl when we're apart[/font][/color][/size]
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Racing through the lands as was normal to the woman warrior, the familiar accompaniment of a massive bear to her left and a ferocious black panther to her right the dark skinned woman was quick to sprint through the heavy woods surrounding the lands. She had spent most of her life in these lands, travelling as per her own whims. She fought when she was called and with such a feral attitude that it was no wonder for the woman that she found better company in the animals that treated her like one of her own. The panther had taken her into her cave mistakenly as a child, keeping her safe and warm for months while she entertained fights with her cubs.Treating her as if she was indeed one of her own. Providing protection when the hulking beast of a bear was otherwise engaged in gorging himself with meat and fish.

The woman warrior was never fully entertained by the ways of her people, proud though she was. There was however always something to be done in the natural hideouts. Always someone to fight, always somewhere to rest for a night and always bountifil food. By the end of her long armed spear creatures would suffer greatly. By the knives in her revealing warrior clothes aided the 'pack' whenever they needed anything and her skilled climbing and swinging from trees had proven invaluable when chasing particularly reluctant meals.

But over the past years there had been another mission occupying the mind of the mother of seven. Two men and five girls. All in their teens training to be warriors themselves. While she sought no male companionship there was someone from her youth that she had found herself remembering. There was a girl whose mother had turned her back on the people, had taken occpuancy as a woman wife. As a servant to the weaker man. It was a shameful fate and the girl she had known i her teen years had been taken with the woman and estricised from the village. The girls had known each other, had occasionally trained together in between Vonas trips to the panther cave. And with permission from the village leader she had set out to bring back the woman.

She would be not much younger than she; but very out of the loops she believed, having been apart from her people from so long and at such a vital age. At fourteen Vona had first experienced what it was life to ebar a child. Though she had experienced much pain the power of bearing children and the confidence that it had brought the now mid thirty's woman was irreplacable. She had become even stronger in her fighting. Understanding why it was that the leader mated so regularly. The men were a complication of course, but theyw ere easily lost as they were found. There was always a ready amount of men willing to take up the bed of a seductive woman with no other wants other than a night of sex.

But the woman had been plucked from her people so young she had no idea if she had even gotten the chance to bear her own children. Personally Vona had no real connection with her male children, they were taken to a nearby village and used as tools in future breeding or for manual labour that the woman had no time for. What if she had never bore a girl. It would be a sorry thought. Never bearing a girl to continue the line of female warriors whp'se tribe was so old that many of the ancients had no knowledge of their very existance. It of course did make the mating more difficult when the males were brought into a village of woman strong enough to take them down. For her own children Vona had always chosen men strong in built and height. The darkness of her skin was always passed on despite the colouring of any man. And despite her numerous children already there was always time for more breeding. The women had strong genes that could survive well into their fourties and fifties.

"érchontai mazí" She crooned to the two wild beasts. Both of which were used to the native language of her mother tongue. The panther knowing it from rearing the woman and the bea from being reared by the woman herself. At seven the male was at a dangerous height, active very protectively over the woman who he saw as his mother. Giving her ride on his back as well as the woman panther. There was no need for horses in the village. The women were strong runners but when in need of rest it was the animal kingdom that held their stamina. While the human warrior women had legs strengthened through time and constant vigilant practise of running and fighting each other in combat. Arms thick and strong not like a mans, but suprising when in need of heavy lifting or manual work. The woman were very capable in healing, building, crafting, cooking and most importantly, hunting. All of which came in very handy when they went to battle against other men. Their clothing never getting in the way due to the scandelously short shorts and barely suitable chest wear.

Her boots however were enough that the soles of her feet stayed relatively soft and walkable. Thoguh the women could spend days on their feet, running and walking everywhere they were still woman. And having some sort of comfort in their skin meant that they retained something of their femininity. It was an odd way of life, the way of the woman warrior. They cast out their sons at birth to a nearby village where the would grow to be useful to the women later on in their lives, while the girls at such young ages were taught to fight; to hunt and to craft. Healing and cooking were responsibilities of the older girls; ones that knew the basics and had mastered their skills and afinities. For Vona her affinity had always been with the wild. Being a girl whose life made her far closer to nature tha others it was no real suprise to her own mother when she took semi permanant residence with the panthers. If she was to die at the panthers hand then it would be on her head alone. The women of the trive looked out or each other, but they did not take responsibiliy for others foolish actions.

Soon she found, the thickness of the forests connecting lands began to thin. Spread out and the unsightly image of a woman walking in the tween of two feral and known dangerous animals in scantiy clothing walked through the middle of the town. It was one not all that different than her own. She was used to the multitude of shops where people did not necessarily pay for their things, but traded wares. The craftsmen sold their clothing; te blacksmiths sold their armour and weaponry. Anything that could be used for trade was. For Vona, she traded meat and skins. Hunted by her own self and traded in replacement of weapons and clothing. Those were the ways of her people, not the fickle collection of material needs and money. Idiocy. When there was an accumulation it only led to greed. Greed lead to jealousy, and a tribe of jealous womanfolk where more than half were pregnant most of the time? From past experience it was never a pretty sight.

With a sniff of the air the woman warrior approached the place she had tracked the woman. It smelled of urine, of fermentation, or men and with a sniff if indignation she detected very notably the smell of sex. Leaving her two companions outside the building she approached the door, her tall and well built figure looming in the doorway as she made eyecontact on the woman. She looked like her tribe, her body strong and built for the strength she was bred for. Her mother was a fool to have left. "I know you can sense me woman. " She said softly as she walked toward the woman, the grouping around her of no consequence. She did not sit, instead choosing to stand on her own two feet and get a single glaring stare at the barman that gave her a once over. "I could snap your organ in two without thinking man. Give me no reason to limit your ability to produce children." She growled in the foreign language to her. Watching as the man scuttled away from whence he came. A grim look on his face

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Drag my teeth across your chest

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I taste your beating heart[/font][/color][/size]
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( Outfit ) : LINK!
( Lyrics ) : Howl - Florence and The Machine
( Tags ) : Emerahl & open
( Word Count ) : 1444

[Emerahl Leana Gorgo]

We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES

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At his words she almost scoffed. Men with less willpower? She did not believe many men had any will power at all when confronted by a shapely woman and most of her clan were. Their natural beauty was cultivated by the fine selection of mates and their own physical dexterity.
“Your wife was very lucky,” she said lightly, refusing to play into his little game of pretending she was still alive. It did no one any good to pretend and Emerahl was not one to cover up the truth. The man needed to move on and heal. His irrationality was his weakness; well it was any soldier’s weakness. It was far better to act from the head than to act from the heart. She slowly hummed a soft mournful tune, a lullaby her mother once sang. She had taken a fond liking to the sound as she sung it to herself in the loneliest of winters and darkest of battles, but had never cherished the memory of her mother. It reminded her of the days of hard training with her clan. It was those days she cherished. She looked away from the knight who had lost some of her interest. He was the true mournful grieving loved one who never knew when a fight was lost. She slowly let the soft lullaby drift off her lips as she returned her dark, questioning gaze to the knight.

A soft stream of laughter left her lips. It was a pretty accurate description of the clan leader. All of them were something else. She smirked at his words and shook her head. It was a well known fact woman enjoyed men with a few scars, but Aedan’s were quite spectacular. Althought woman who went for such things were rather petty and weak and only wanted a man to hold them well they fell asleep and rescue them from fake demons. The fact is, no man was truly the knight isn shining armour woman dreamed for. They were all battered up, broken weak creatures, torn apart by their need for revenge. She had nothing against those who sought out revenge, but the ridiculous levels this man was going to was truly over the top and unnecessary. Emerahl looked around at the squalor with vague interest. She had very little sympathy for the desolate, fearful citizens when at any time they could have made their own lives better. They could have chosen not to be afraid and taken a moment to prepare themselves for battle. The mercenary herself had crafter the arrows from what debris that had littered the dark, empty ground. She had noted the fear in every passer by’s eyes as she crafted her arrows. They feared for their own lives. They were selfish, and scared. The former knight was merely selfish. She had not many any person wish for their loved ones to seek out their murderers and gain revenge at the cost of their loved one’s sanity. Well, to dies was selfish really.

She stroked the thick neck of her stallion. Horses were not the common mount for the woman warriors. They preferred exotic creatures, but Emerahl preferred animals that would not in desperate times, eye their master up for food. Emerahl had been through a great deal of desperate times, when even the smallest food amount had to go to her horse so that they could leave the circumstance fully. She could not afford to let her mount go hungry for that would be allowing herself to remain destitute with no means to flee. Arsopher had been her most loyal companion and she would be devastated without his rather boisterous, cheeky companionship. The horse sighed and a small glimmer of a smile echoed onto her lips. He would be well fed tonight and so would she. The great stallion turned his head and nipped at the top of her long leather riding boot. Murmuring to him in her home tongue, she gently pushed his head away.
“Well let’s hope her replacement will be half the woman she was and you will have a good monarch,” she said roughly, the transition between the two languages causing her to haltingly move forward in her speech. Her brow drew into a tight frown.
“You really think fighting for your country is any nobler than fighting for gold?” she spat. “It is not. At least we are not blind to the ridiculous nature of battle. We had no choice, for this is all we’re good at. You kingdoms fight irrational wars, wasting the lives of so many innocents. You know, every soldier you kill also has a family, and they will be drawn into revenge, just like you. Why do you think you’re any better than the man who killed your family? You killing fathers, sons, and still have the audacity to seek out another in revenge. You deserve the same amount of respect as someone who fights for gold, former knight. And we do not expect mercy in war. Mercy is weak and will get you killed.”

“Please,” she scoffed testily. “Army men are supposed to be disciplined creatures of war, not hormonal children.”
She shook her head, her patience quickly evaporating. Men were truly uncivilised creatures. Her mother’s chosen lover had been enough to prove it but the rest of man was not attempting to dispel the notion, in fact they were encouraging it. Her stallion looked over at the man and bared his teeth. His ears lay defensively back upon his head. The great seventeen hands high bulky horse was quite a sight, and people gave them a wide berth. He swished his tail in annoyance, sensing his mistresses’ annoyance. The quick tempered woman was always quick to put people back in their place. Although the culture of man being superior was widespread, she refused to bow down to any of it. In fact she abhorred the very idea in itself.
“Yes, most dead and then world is better for it. Mostly the men are dead, the women however, in their skimpy little armour, are completely unharmed. Our armour is functional because we are always aware because we have a greater risk. It’s for the most part, foolproof, if you’re a good enough warrior. I took a ferry from a shady character at the bottom of Sanglant and the first place it took me was to Rivadon. Don’t assume things former knight. I am only passing though. It would, however, be a waste to move on too quickly with the tragedy in the capital. They’d been too panic stricken to even think rationally. Grief annoys me, and hinders military plans, or makes them irrational. I would rather wait for the hype to cool down than be thrown into a stupid, irrational battle. There will be employment when the battle heats up. There always is.”

Noting his expression, she gritted her teeth in frustration. Men! Her common had always been neglected. People found woman who could not talk to them as being far more hireable and attractive. So she had entertained that idea and not spoken. Occasionally she indulged herself to learning the language so that she could pretend that she did not know what they were saying.
“My common is limited,” she growled, gritting her teeth. “But yes, it is far to bust for bed.”
She looked out over the sky and realised it was not sunset yet. She would explore the terrain around the village once the night fell. It made her feel more secure. Humans were lazy and inclined to take safety for granted. In a war, there was no mercy for those who were naive and stupid. She would not even bother to warn if there were armies. They had to learn their lesson themselves not from a stranger.
She pulled her month into a tight line as she considered his words. His impatience was certainly going to lead him to irrationality. Doubting whether it would be wise to join the rather impulsive man on his journey, she allowed her thoughts to mull over the coming days. She had the skills to live with no money at all.
“Generousity is admirable,” she admitted, admiring the man slightly. She had known many men to be selfish with their worldly possessions. It truly was not needed to survive. Emerahl herself could easily hunt her own food and journey into towns with water and find streams that were clean for water. Everything else was unnecessary. She had to admit she sometimes stole maize to grind up for her stallion. He however, was quite happy to search for his own food. She gestured to the small boy standing at the edge of the bar. Slipping a silver coin from her pocket into his hands, she spoke softly, “Take this man’s armour into the armoury.”
The eager boy smiled and turned to the man.
“Humour him, Former knight Aedan, formerly of Glenring,” she said lightly, “so that his family will have food tonight.”

The woman smiled knowingly at the girl’s comment. How right she was about the world. Emerahl never ceased to be disappointed in the way things turned out, when men were in charge. At least here, under the rule of a woman, the girl was allowed to become a knight.
“They’re merely threatened. Men have ego complexes that usually come from...” she shrugged and laughed, trying to avoid being vulgar around the girl. “Security detail for a knight? Sounds like a soldier or scholar’s work.”
She frowned and gave the men in the bar a contemptuous look.
“Are the people here always so suspicious of woman soldiers, or perhaps have I caught them on a bad day?” she asked lightly, noting the looks the bar was giving the female knight and mercenary.

She looked at the girl as the knight spoke. Smirking, she downed the second drink that had been placed in front of her. Hardened to the years of alcohol intake, she was hardly affected by the crudely made whiskey.
“He’s a former knight, who is caught in his fatal flaw of vaulting revenge,” she laughed, gesturing for another drink. Recognition passed through her mind and her laughter was silences to sombreness. Squeals from horses of fear came from the stables, but the humans looked calm. Perhaps it was in the smell. Above the smell of the staleness of many people living in one environment came the smell of clean nature, pure nature. She bore her teeth in an animalistic fashion and growled. She had not smelt that scent for many, many years. She glanced up to the door to see a recognisable, yet unrecognisable figure move through the door. Vona! Her skin prickled. What would the woman raised by a panther be here? It explained the horses’ unrest.

“Paliós fílos mou,” she acknowledged at the woman’s words. Taking deep calm breaths, she eyes the woman, uncertain to her motives. Keeping her sharp eyes on the woman, she watched her berate the barman. Her clan had been a lot harsher than Emerahl had turned out. In no way was the mercenary a man sympathiser but she was also not rude. She knew how to treat people in ways that provided little effort for her to achieve her means.
“Lígo akatérgasto̱n?̱” she said amused. “Giatí tóso makriá apó to spíti?”
She kept her voice steady, speaking in her mother tongue fluently and easily. It had been a long time since she had seen her older friend. She doubted that the woman had come for her. Emerahl had lost out on a great deal of her traditional training, including her first child at a tender age. On that note, Emerahl was very pleased to have deviated from the norm. After living with the mercenaries, sleeping with a man seemed vulgar and unpleasant and Emerahl had no future plans that involved any sort of fraternizing with the enemy. Men were snakes, and even if woman only used them to get what they wanted, men used them back equally in return.


Translation:

"My old Friend."
"A little rough, perhaps?"
"Why so far from home?"

(TAG ?!)open
(WORDS ?!)2007
(WEARING ?!) leather armour
(STATUS ?!) finished
(NOTES ?!) blah
(CREDIT ?!) this lovely template was made by dear joey AKA xoxsilvermoonox of the lovely CAUTION 2.0 don't steal this or else I will send my rabid heffalumps and woozles after you!! (: the lyrics are by the amazing black veil brides, never give in.

[Aedan Filmore]

Aedan sighed and shook his head. “No, I was the lucky one”. He doubted Emerahl would appreciate such clichéd melancholy, but he didn’t really care all that much what a mercenary from a clan of psychotic nymphomaniacs thought about him. He had a right to grieve dammit, as long as he kept himself focused on his task and kept it under control then he intended to exercise that right, and screw whatever his companion thought of that. He glanced up when he heard the tune that Emerahl was humming to herself. He hadn’t heard it in some time...for most places it was a love song, albeit a sad, mournful one. But as was often the case the tune had different words in almost every village you went, and sometimes different connotations. In Glenring for example, the it was sung at funerals, not as a lullaby. It was saddening, but in a way a little comforting, it was something familiar, even if it was familiar for bad reasons. It brought back old memories. Some were sad, like his mother’s funeral, but there were happy ones as well, the wakes in particular. It was traditional after someone died to “send them off in style”. The wake served as a party that encompassed the entire village. People ate, drank (often nearly drinking themselves into their own graves) and traded stories of the deceased, to remember them. It helped overcome the sadness of their passing by creating new and happy memories.

He smirked at her gentle laugh. “I hit the nail on the head with the description didn’t I?”. It was, from his experience rather accurate. The clan leader had been rather...unhappy...at having her advances refused. As the scars he was displaying for Emerahl proved. Some women found them rather attractive on a man. Amelia however hadn’t fallen into that category, she’d simply pointed to them as signs of “carelessness”. She’d always said that the proof a man was really good in a fight was that he had no scars whatsoever. And Aedan found it hard to disagree. A scar was just proof of carelessness or a mistake, not a symbol of one’s prowess on the battlefield. Of course there were very few soldiers who were scarless, and most of them were cowards, so maybe the idea didn’t have quite as much merit as he’d thought. He noticed the warrior glanced around herself and followed her gaze. “It’s almost pitiful” he murmured. “All this squalor, so many lives ruined so very easily. If they’d actually fought back against their attackers they might still have homes...but they’re not soldiers. Can you blame them for fleeing like fools when most of them can’t even conceive of combat?”

He gave the horse a quick once over as its rider stroked its neck. It was a strong beast, it’d have to be. The woman’s tribe didn’t use weak mounts. They used strange ones though: bears, big cats, some of the oversized lizards that roamed the nearby lands and ever strange creates, massive. With noses like an octopus’ tentacle, massive ears and massive weapon-like teeth made of precious ivory of all things. If he hadn’t seen it himself Aedan wouldn’t have believed that that was where the luxurious material came from if he hadn’t seen it himself. And strangely those were some of the nicest mounts they used, at least those ones didn’t try and eat their riders when they were low on supplies. Those lands had the strangest of beasts, some people had tried caging them on special carts, or training them and bringing them around villages and towns as travelling menageries. However all too often one of the animals got used and either stampeded in a panic or regressed to predatory behaviour. Legend had it that the leopard one such show had lost in Rivadon five years ago still roamed the rooftops, disappearances in the town were always put down to the beast snatching the occasional meal from the unsuspecting.
“You can hope, but I doubt it will be the case. Monarchs like that are few and far between. It’ll be a long time before we have one like her. The best we can hope for is a nobleman for king who’s not so idiotic that he can’t see the nose in front of his face, although I wouldn’t put my hopes up. That rules out half of the nobility immediately, including a lot of the ones with the best blood claims on the throne”.
Aedan took in a deep breath and sighed. “I know the people I kill have families. Wives, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, cousins. The difference is that I do not burn homes or butcher civilians. When a man kills another man on a battlefield that is war. When a man burns a woman and her child alive in their home that is murder. One can understand why their spouse or father or cousin or uncle died in battle. When your family are slaughtered for no reason other than that they were in their killer’s path, that is when someone is drawn into vengeance. As for mercy...some at least hold themselves to a higher standard than common cutthroat killers, some people see mercy as more than a hindrance. It has yet to kill me and I’m not about to give it up now”.

He actually laughed at her next few words. “Disciplined creatures of war? You obviously don’t know how armies are made up. The disciplined warriors make up a small core of an army. The knights and the officers, that’s it. The rest are conscripts. The bodyguards of lords, farmers with pikes pressed into shaking hands, young boys with little more than improvised billhooks. War is not the clash of two sleekly organised masses of disciplined troops, or disciplined knights in a glorious charge. It is the slaughter of the youth of two nations when their old men argue. Most “soldiers” will give in to baser urges in a second. Fear. Lust. Rage. It takes training and strength of will to be a true warrior. And unfortunately most people on a battlefield have neither”. He sighed. Warfare was a dirty business at best. And it was rarely at its best.
“It doesn’t seem the best of strategies. If your armour is reliant upon the wearer knowing they aren’t well protected and dodging blows. One may rely on speed only so much. And such a strategy simply puts more pressure on the warrior, and makes a mistake unlikely. When your armour is so thin and covers so little one mistake can be lethal, when if you were to wear steel armour you may at least survive the strike. The capital is likely not the best place for mercenaries right now, lords will likely politicking to try and make their way to the throne easier, they’ll likely see any new mercenaries as a possible assassin hired by a rival and try to deal with you first. The capital is not a good place to be at present. It’s why I left. Politics and grief have destroyed any chance of us fighting back against our enemies, it’s just turned into bickering lords and tearful ladies. The generals can’t move without the approval of the monarch or the lords. The monarch is gone and the lords won’t let any of their fellows command the army forward for fear of having the army ordered against them”.

Aedan guessed that the girl was less than happy with the limits on her language and that he’d managed to strike a nerve by pointing out her error, so he decided not to expand on it. He had given her enough reason to dislike him, so he didn’t want to give her any more reason to get mad at him. “Ah” he replied, and left her at that, not even mentioning her strange use of the word “bust” in the sentence.
A glance at the sky told him that it was barely even late afternoon. Then again one never knew, the sun sometimes went down at the strangest of hours. Still nightfall would be welcome, it would – hopefully – bring some peace and quiet as all the refugees in the streets found somewhere to bed down for the night. For now the clamber and hustle and bustle was grating on his ears, some quiet would be nice...
“I’ve always thought it a good trait. I’m hardly going to spend all the money in my possession in the near future. I might as well be generous while I’m here”. He raised an eyebrow when she gestured for a young boy to come over. Then he realised and shrugged. “Might as well get it off then”. He began slowly, methodically, pulling off segments of rusted, holed plate and his mail shirt, which was missing quite a few rings. The shirt underneath had quite a few bloodstains and slashes in it from enemy blades, which got him a few odd looks, but he was hardly the most badly injured man in sight. He handed the pile of armour to the boy, who looked like he might have difficulty carrying all the armour, but managed it, barely. Then he pulled a coin from his pocket. Silver, and small, it might have looked of low value, except for the script that decorated the rim, long, curling letters, elvish script. So rarely were such coins found outside of the Elves’ woodland kingdom that this coin would be able to buy the boy a small house, a horse and carriage or food for years. “Be careful what you spend that coin boy”. The boy looked disappointed, he couldn’t see the coin, so he could have easily mistaken the coin for a penny. He probably wouldn’t realise what he held until he’d dropped off the armour. His reaction would be interesting to say the least.
Once the boy went off to the smith’s he smirked to the mercenary. “I believe, Emerahl, that will keep his family in food for some time”.

Aedan smirked at her comment and sipped at his whiskey. “Well these are the same Lords who are so immobile that lifting a sword is more exercise than they gain in a whole day’s work on average. I wouldn’t put much stock in whatever opinions they present. Having a Queen that was more of a man than them made them feel insecure in their masculinity, so they make up for it by trying to keep down any woman with a smidge of ambition”. He glanced at the woman knight when she spoke. “Inspecting the security detail? Your superior should either be doing it himself or send a squire to do that? It’s not a job for a knight and I doubt he has enough knights to send them off unnecessarily on little errands like that”. He glanced at Emerahl when she spoke. “Usually. Female soldiers aren’t a common sight in this country’s military. They only take female soldiers up into the army when things are really desperate. Just ignore them, they’ll find something better to do eventually”.

He continued to sip at his drink and smirked at Emerahl’s words. “I prefer to think of it as a heroic quest for justice, but that’s pretty much the gist of it”. He glanced over at the girl after that, looking more carefully. Something seemed familiar, but he wasn’t sure, if he’d seen her before she’d looked very different the last time he’d seen her to her current appearance. “Yes, I’ve been in Stratenvale quite a bit. It’s where my master is based, where I was trained and at present my horse is stabled there until I have need of him. As for my name, Sir Aedan Filmore at your service m’lady”. He gave her another look them added, “And what might be your name if I may as bold as yourself?”

He sipped at his drink again, finishing it of and then beckoning for another. His previous generosity meant that it was in front of him promptly. And to his surprise when he first sipped his drink it tasted...good. The whiskey actually tasted like a rather venerable vintage. “Thank you” he murmured to the bartender and continued to sip, glancing at the women sitting on either side of him. The lady knight seemed to be looking rather carefully at Emerahl. Well if she wanted to bang her head against that enigma she was welcome to try. She’d probably end up injuring herself in the task. Emerahl however looked...ill at ease? He could hear horses panicking outside, maybe something was the matter with her moun? Then he glanced at the doorway and saw what had her like that. There was a dark skinned woman entering the bar. Her clothes were of a similarly revealing style to Emerahl’s although this woman looked older. Naturally of course she approached Emerahl, who began chattering away in their language. Aedan couldn’t keep up too well, but it just seemed to be pleasantries. After the woman’s angry near snarl at the bartender though he had to chuckle. “Tad harsh don’t you think?”. It wasn’t as if one could blame the man. The woman had chosen clothing that covered very little and merely accentuated that which it did cover.

He glanced over at the knight and shrugged, murmuring to her. “Probably best to let them be, I don’t want any threats in that vein directed at myself, and I’d rather not find out what she has stored up in case you irritate her somehow, so best we both just stay quiet and let them converse”.

[Keladry Annabelle Furiosa]

Trying hard to capture
the moment this morning I don't know

Kel smiled their words about the lords who felt threatened by her being a knight. She guessed what the woman was implying about men, she decided it would be improper of her to make a comment with a man sitting right next to her. Not all men were like that, she had met a few decent ones during her training and had remained firm friends with a number of them once her training had been completed. "For lords who are so immobile with a sword they can be rather cutting with their words at times and a number of them blame me for their son’s failings as a knight" she said shrugging. "They refuse to admit the real reason for their son’s failings is that most of the time he is raised to believe that the ground he walks on has been ordained in his name" she said with a grim look on her face.

She shrugged at his comment about her doing security detail. "They seem to think that by keeping me out of real action they'll drive me to throw in my shield. I suspect they’ve forgotten how stubborn and irritatingly persistent I can be” she said smiling, still remembering how some of her fellow pages had attempted to get her to quit. Obviously some of her fellow knights had forgotten that lesson and needed to relearn it. She glanced at the woman, “Oh you know some men, their ego can’t handle the thought that a woman might be stronger than them” she said glaring at the barman.

She smiled at the woman’s words about the man having a fatal flaw of wanting to vault revenge. “You’ll be surprised how unusually common that trait is among knights, I suspect it develops in our years spent as a page” she said smiling slyly. There were always boys that pulled pranks on one another and then the other boy would prank the original pranker to get revenge. Children of nobility were raised in that way as their families believed that it would make them tougher while all it did was cause petty fights to occur between various noble families.

“Keladry Furiosa” she said with a small smile, she thought that she might have remembered his name. “My family lost their lands when I was a small child to Sanglant and if I remember correctly the royal family sent a number of knights to assist us as my family used the lands for breeding warhorses” she said wondering if Aedan had possibly been one of the knights sent to assist her family. Although they had lost their lands, most of the horses were still property of her family and her father was currently borrowing lands from the crown for his stud. She frowned when she heard squeals from the stables, she could only hope that Zahir hadn’t pulled anything funny or that a stablehand had gotten careless around the stallion.

She glanced at the woman, surprised to hear what sounded like a growl come out of her mouth. She glanced at the door when the woman did, curious about what had caused the woman to growl the way she did. Another woman had appeared in the doorway, dressed in what appeared to be as little clothing as humanly possible. She took another sip of the vile drink, hoping that she would be able to finish it without spitting any out in disgust. She listened with interest when the woman seated next to Aedan spoke with the newcomer in a different tongue, she obviously knew this strange woman. She frowned at the words that the woman directed towards the barman and agreed with Aedan about her being a tad harsh. She managed to with hold herself from telling the woman exactly what she thought of her comment towards the barman. She was certain that if she did tell her that she wouldn’t survive to tell the tale.

She smiled at Aedan’s words, “I have a feeling you may be right about that, she looks as though she would behead half of the knights in Samarid while the other half is still trying to figure out what happened” she said keeping her eyes on the wild woman. This woman had the appearance of someone who ate lions for lunch, she wouldn’t easily go looking for trouble with her. Even though she was curious about who these woman were, she would rather not ask them. “Do you know who they are?” she asked Aedan softly, not sure if he knew more than she did. She could tell neither came from Samarid, they were both missing the trade mark pale skin and blonde hair that most Samaridians bore. She had come across few individuals who had an appearance like these woman. Both looked as though they descended from one of the tribes in distant dessert lands that Samarid had very little contact with.